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There was a story of a wicked woman. A step-mother. A hag. A harridan. A nag. She was bad news. She screamed. She raged. She stormed. She didn't bring sweetness and light into the world. That was how the story went.
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Hera woke from a troubling dream. She'd been hanging in chains from a cloud. There had been massive anvils attached to her ankles, stretching her painfully. Acid dripped like rain on her face. While she screamed in terror and pain, a cuckoo bird twittered and laughed at her.
Hephaestos tried to drive off the bird and he fell. While the bird laughed.
Hera sat up in their bed and reached out for Zeus, but his place in their bed was cool.
It was always cool.
He was always cool. He'd loved her when they married. She was certain of it. She remembered him telling her of his love.
There had been three hundred years of bliss.
She was certain of it. He'd told her many times they had been happy for three hundred years until she'd ruined things with her complaining. He told her everyone said so. He told her the gods were talking behind her back about how she'd ruined things by throwing her son off the Olympos. Her son. Not his. She was certain Hephaestos was Zeus' son, but he said he wasn't. It was hard to know what was real sometimes.
She should go downstairs. She should find Hephaestos and beg his forgiveness. She should send him far away. Zeus had married her son to a harlot, and now he'd never know peace or bliss. How could she face him?
Her mind skittered sideways as she worried at a bruise that would never fade at the back of her neck. Adjusted her bridal veil. She'd had to make new veils. Zeus had taken hers away. Given them to that harlot.
Aphrodite. They had been friends once. She thought they had. Zeus said they hadn't. Maybe she was just remembering wrong again. It wasn't as if she could ask Mnemosyne. That whore had seduced Zeus over and over. Whelped his Muse bastards all over the place. She was certain was covering for him. Mnemosyne had been one of Metis' bridesmaids. Perhaps she'd been one of Hera's. Aphrodite had been a the wedding.
Now Aphrodite was her daughter-in-law. She'd been at the wedding of Zeus and Metis the garden of the Hesperides. It was her garden. She hated it there.
Zeus said he'd set Metis aside because of Hera's jealousy. Metis had worn orange blossoms in her hair on her wedding day. She'd been pregnant on the day of her wedding. No, it was Hera who had been pregnant and nauseous on the day of her wedding.
Or maybe she hadn't. Maybe she'd had orange blossoms woven into her hair for her own wedding. She got so confused these days. She remembered one thing and Zeus said she was a stupid cow and remembering it wrong. She'd stare at the frescos and they were what Zeus said had happened.
She conjured the cuckoo feather Zeus had given her when he was courting her. Tried to remember how long she'd been the goddess of marriage, women, and motherhood. Just as quickly, she spun it aside certain that he was even now trapped between the thighs of the kind of sluttish whore who would have sex with a married man.
The kind of woman deserved what she got. But Hera would have to be crafty. Careful. Zeus would punish her if she moved against his slut directly.
He had a new one. Semele. Some priestess in one of his temples. She snarled and pushed herself out from under the blankets. The carpet was a thin cover for the cold of the marble of the floor. Stone that didn't bend like a cloud beneath her feet. There was a bitter breeze through the open window. Hera put on her heavy mantle of feathers, a gift from Zeus for her peahen jealousy. For feeling bad for having had to hit her, after what she'd done to Io.
Isis?
Whichever bitch had gone to Egypt and whelped one of Zeus' bastards in the form of a cow.
She wanted to cry when she thought about Argos with his many eyes. He'd watched over her garden. A heifer. She was certain he hadn't watched over a heifer. But she had trouble remembering what he had watched over.
The heavy weight of her mantle worried at her memory. It made her think of her father. She wanted him to never break free. To stay in Tartaros forever and ever and ever. His lips closing around her toes. That slurp. Teeth grazing over her skull. Being held by her sisters. Propped up by Haides. What if that memory was wrong too? She tried to remember why she hadn't married the other Zeus.
He hadn't asked.
She hadn't wanted him.
He was her brother.
She'd been proud. Too proud. She'd been proud of her little star cottage in the clouds that wreathed the mountain top. Except Zeus said there was no star cottage in the clouds.
She shivered at the bitter wind coming through the window. She went to close the shutter, but as she stared down at the world below, all she could think about was a slut who would steal a woman's husband.
Hera went to find the little bitch who was fornicating with her husband. Who had flirted and led him astray.
She put on the guise of an old woman. The little harlot's old nurse Beroë. Someone familiar to her, but that she hadn't seen in a little while. Hera had to use tricks to get back at her husband for abusing their love. So many tricks she had a deep bag of them. She went down to where Semele was washing clothes in the river. She bobbed her head at Semele. This was not the first time she'd joined Semele here. They washed clothes in the river together.
Hera was familiar with all the ways women spent their days. The way their work was never done. She'd had to pretend to be an old woman many times. There were good women in the world. Women betrayed by their husbands. She helped them. This was how she divided women. Those who stood by their husbands and were betrayed, and the betrayers.
She and the little bitch rubbed yellow olive oil soap into simply spun brown wool and let the river carry the filth away. Spread the clothes to dry on wicker racks. As they sat watching clothes dry, Hera led Semele into increasing confidences. No better than she should be. Trying to catch Zeus' eye by sacrificing bulls to him on the altar.
When Semele, clearly brimming with pride, confessed that she had a lover who was none other than the King of the gods himself, Hera said, "Really! The things men will tell young women these days to get them to spread their legs. Not that it was any different in my youth. I had a lover once who claimed to have a broken wing." She coughed an old woman's cough. "Arm. A broken arm so I would let him inside my little cottage. He pretended to be cold so I would hold him against my breast and cuddle him in my bed." She leaned over. "His arm was not broken, he was not cold, he was not a cuckoo bird, and I doubt your lover is Zeus." She added a wink and a laugh to take away the sting of her words. She must be subtle.
Semele frowned. "But Beroë, he appears suddenly out of the air like a god. He has a golden glow." She insisted earnestly. "You would believe if you saw him."
"Then maybe he's a god, or spirit. Maybe a tree spirit. They can take many shapes to fool a young woman. But there's no reason to think he's the king of the gods. Is he green?"
"He's not green. He's Zeus." Semele's brow furrowed. "He said I was meant to be with him." She leaned forward. "I haven't told anyone, but I drowned in this very river." She didn't look at it as she said it. She washed her clothes. "A miracle saved me. It was a few days later that… well, you know happened to Acteon. Anyway, it makes so much sense Zeus came to me after." She said almost as if she was pleading. "It's what father wanted."
Hera could see she'd planted doubt. "If you say so," said Hera. She folded her clothes into her basket. "But this man is lying to you, you should keep him out of your bed until he proves it to you. Ask him to lay with you as he does with his wife, Hera." Hera knew very well how Zeus would react to being denied a woman's bed.
She almost brought down a hail of silver stars on the little whore's head when Semele said earnestly, "But he doesn't lie with his wife. She doesn't love him. She makes him sleep in another room. Won't even…" she leaned closer and whispered, "have sex with him."
Semele glanced up to the clouds, while Hera brushed at her own tears with her shawl.
"Beroë!" said Semele, "You've damaged your shawl."
"So, I have," said Hera, folding the torn fabric over. She patted Semele's hand. "Mind what I've said. This man is just using you, and you're such a sweet girl." She put on her sweetest old woman smile, and stopped talking.
She must be subtle. If she pushed too hard, Semele wouldn't deny Zeus her bed.
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Hera flew home towards Olympos on quick wings. She looked up at the clouds and thought, "Zeus says there's no cottage up there." She could have sworn she remembered a cottage. She could have sworn she remembered a floating island. She thought, "What is the harm in flying up there?" She flew into the clouds and there was the cottage as she'd always imagined. There was the little garden amid the wispy clouds.
It was hard to stand there. She could feel winds blowing at her even though the air was still. She worried at the bands around her wrists. They were very tight. She'd always worn them. They were a gift from Zeus. They were a sign he loved her. He'd told her that so many times in the orange grove.
It was why she hated oranges.
She made herself go inside the cottage. Hephaestos toys were scattered around the room. She remembered making them. She remembered going to Prometheus and asking him to make toys for her clever son.
Before he'd betrayed her husband. Stolen her son's fire. Wicked man. Zeus had told her all about his sins. She smashed several toys. But then she saw it.
The delicate lotus scepter made by her little boy's clever hands. He'd been such a clever boy. Was such a clever boy. She tucked the scepter into her cloak and returned to Olympos. It was time for the Diasia festival. She'd thought it was Haides' feast, but Zeus had told her that she was wrong and that it was his festival.
As she made her way to the banquet hall, she paused in front of the great frescos of the final battle of the Titanomachy. Her handsome Zeus flinging the final thunderbolt that drove their father to his knees. Her eyes skittered over the image of the woman standing one step behind him. Her hand on his shoulder. Her head bent to give him counsel. There was something wrong about the face. It wasn't quite right. When she looked at it, she saw this was one of the images that Hebe had decided to repaint.
Hebe was not a painter. She shouldn't have done that. But it was fine. Hebe was a good girl. She tried so hard. It wasn't her fault she was the result of a mean trick by Hera's bitch of a sister. Betrayer of a sister. Perhaps. Hera had trouble remembering. Zeus said that Hebe was the result of Hera's jealousy and a salad, but that didn't seem right.
Hera pulled her feather cloak around her. Gripped her lotus scepter. She was the queen of the gods. Goddess of marriage. Zeus loved her. Had married her and made her life complete. Given her a purpose. Without him, she had none.
She went into the great hall to greet their guests. It was a festival. It was right and good of mortals to praise the gods. To praise Zeus.
Zeus wasn't there yet, but that was because he wanted to make an entrance. She reminded herself she loved that about him.
When he did arrive though, and she went to join him on their feasting couch, he boomed out, "Kore, girl, you're too far away from your father. I'm just getting to know you since your mother kept you so cruelly from me. Come," he patted the space next to him, "join me in the place of honor."
Her daughter, Hebe, a good sweet girl, was forced to serve the gods, while Demeter's daughter took Hera's place next to her husband.
She gripped her lotus scepter, but it did not bend. Not even when her husband accused her of ignoring him. Poor Hephaestos had made that scepter. She said, "My son loved me enough to make me this."
"What are you even talking about?" asked Zeus.
They argued. They were always arguing. It was dear who Ares who rushed to her defense, sweet boy, and paid the price. Hephaestos was never around when she needed him.
She felt it like an unraveling loom when Zeus shouted, "I should never have put aside Metis at your conniving! I've had to live with your jealousy and spite ever since!"
She felt that blow land. She did. She could feel it. Her godhead unraveling. She had to hold the pieces together. Marriage. Fidelity. Queen of the gods.
She could hardly focus when another of Zeus' bastards stood up, bleary eyed. Stumbling. She braced for another humiliation and received it. Red eyed with opium and prophecy, Apollon sang a song that confirmed her husband was sleeping with another woman. Planned to put another woman on her throne. That Zeus would give another woman a son to be his heir. While both of her sons were pushed aside. She wanted to storm away. She wanted to break her rage on him, but didn't know how. No, that wasn't true. Her mind skittered around the idea. Zeus talked about it sometimes. Accused her of wanting to free the Titans.
Her bones ached.
She wanted peace. She asked him, "Will you join me in our room tonight?"
"As if I want to go to that ice flow," growled Zeus. He went with her though. The handsomest of the gods. Her husband. He went to their bed and she enjoyed whatever he wanted.
But by morning he was gone as was her lotus scepter.
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She went looking for it. She found Zeus in the feast hall with some little trembling Trojan boy pouring him nectar. She said, "Who is this? Where is Hebe?"
"As well ask your own name. This is Ganymede." said Zeus sourly. "Oh." His expression changed. He patted her hands. "Did you think you saw Hebe again?"
"Hebe. Yes. She serves the meals. Pours nectar and serves ambrosia." Hera turned, but Hebe wasn't there.
Zeus shook his head. "Hera, Hebe left a long time ago. She said she hated you. Couldn't stand to be around you. Some goddess of motherhood you are. Not to even remember that."
Hera could hardly process what Zeus was saying. But when she asked Apollon if he'd seen Hebe, he said, "She left with the Receiver of All." He clutched his head and said, "I don't really remember a thing about the festival. Arte won't tell me anything. Did I say anything?"
"Nothing of consequence," said Athena briskly. Her husband's daughter from his head was always brisk. Competent. Perfect. Hera wished she were as perfect as Athena. From the moment of her birth. Her face worried at Hera. She felt tears brimming in her eyes.
Thinking on her dream, she almost asked if she'd been hanging from a cloud when Athena was born, which was ridiculous. She was ridiculous. Instead she said, "Has Hebe…" she couldn't force the word died from her lips, "left."
"Yes. That is my understanding," said Athena, which if that was her understanding it was most likely true. Hera felt a wave of grief wash over her. Her daughter was gone. Hated her. She didn't want to think it was true. But what could she think about. Not Athena who looked so much like Metis it hurt to see her. Every time she looked at Athena, Hera felt guilt and grief, but she could never remember why she should feel guilty.
Instead she asked hesitantly. "Did you see me holding a scepter yesterday?"
Athena smiled gently. "Yes, lovely workmanship. Your son Hephaestos work."
"I think he made it when he still loved me. I couldn't find it this morning." Hera looked around. "Where is Hephaestos? I meant… I should… Where is he?"
"Athena!" shouted Zeus, "The old cow will keep fretting until you fetch her son. You may as well go find out where he's wandered off to. Can't have gone far. If you haven't noticed he's stuck in a chair because of my wife's vindictiveness. Threw her own son off a mountain. Some goddess of motherhood she is."
Athena bowed. "Yes, father."
Hera hadn't necessarily meant Athena should go look for Hephaestos. She felt so guilty when she looked at him. She felt so guilty when she looked at Athena.
Perhaps this was for the best if she didn't see either of them. She glared at Mnemosyne across the great hall, but the slut just turned to one of the nymphs that she kept bringing to to Olympos and walked away.
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The lotus scepter kept appearing and disappearing from her rooms. From all over Olympos. "Are you casting miracles on it?" she asked Zeus, feeling foolish.
"Why would I want to do that?" asked Zeus.
There was no reason. No reason at all.
She found the lotus scepter stuck into the binding of her throne. She smiled to have found it. "Look Zeus, I've found my scepter."
"What scepter? You're not holding a scepter. That's a cuckoo bird feather."
It was. She was holding a cuckoo feather.
Zeus said, "My queen, why do you bring up that silly feather? That never happened. I didn't seduce you in the shape of a cuckoo. What kind of affair would that be? I couldn't satisfy you in that shape and you know you were incredibly satisfied the first time I made love to you. All women are completely satisfied with my lovemaking."
Hera said slowly, "I think that was when I became pregnant with Hephaestos. When I found the fount of my godhood. Marriage and childbirth. I married you with Hephaestos growing in my womb. It's hard for me to remember sometimes. Where is Hephaestos? He should be here."
"You should never have had Hephaestos," said Zeus angrily, he was always so angry, and it was too much to hear that again.
She stumbled from the dias. She went to find Ganymede who wasn't very good at filling cups. She found him making love with one of the Erotes, which wasn't right. Not right at all. Not when he should be pouring nectar. But when they disentangled, Ganymede filled her cup. He sat on one side of her and Pothos sat on the other.
Ganymede smiled at her, blushing, "Queen Hera, that is a lovely scepter."
Pothos laughed lightly and easily. Hard to believe that Pothos was older than she was and still so easy with love. Pothos said, "A lotus tip." licking ridiculously pink and plump lips. "Makes me think of certain things." He made a fist and held up his arm.
Which now that he said it, it did have a certain shape, but she hastened to say, "No. No. My son Hephaestos made this for me when he was just a boy." She wanted to protest further that it didn't look like a penis, but smiled to think that both Pothos and Ganymede could see the scepter. It wasn't a feather after all.
She was still smiling when Athena appeared and said, "I've spoken with Aphrodite. She and Hephaestos will return to Olympos when they are less newly wed." She spotted Ganymede and Pothos and sniffed the air. "What have you two been doing?"
"About what you'd think," said Pothos with a laugh. "Although, that's not why I'm here." Pothos pulled a silver mirror from a bag. "Athena, this is a gift from Hephaestos."
The pain in Hera's heart could just as well have been an Erotes' silver arrow. She asked softly, "Is there no gift for me?"
Athena said, "Queen Hera, as you may recall your son's first gift wasn't ideal and you rejected his second."
"No," said Hera holding up the scepter. "His first gift was a box to hold hope and…this." She looked at Athena narrowly. "Do you see the scepter?" If Athena saw it, then it must be real and not her imagination.
"Yes, of course. The lotus scepter in your hand."
"And it's not a cuckoo feather?"
"Nope, not a feather," said Pothos. "Definitely a scepter with a tip like a dick."
"Pothos!" said Ganymede. "You should be nicer to Queen Hera. She is the Queen." He leaned forward. "I'm so sorry your Majesty."
"Thank you," said Hera. She meant it. He was a kind boy. Loved his mother. She could tell. But the gift of the mirror worried at Hera. "Why would my son give you a gift?" A horrible thought occurred to her, "Athena, you don't think he means to woo you. And with him so recently married?"
"No. By the Styx no!" said Athena firmly. "If it bothers you, have it."
"But, it was his gift to you," protested Hera, who wanted to snatch the mirror from Athena's hand.
"But I have no need of it," said Athena sweetly. She was always so sweet.
"Take the mirror," said Pothos with a shrug. "It was mother's to begin with anyway."
Hera hardly knew what to say to that. She'd wanted another thing made by her son's hands. She took the mirror. In a way, it was like the opposite of the scepter.
Always appearing when she'd set it aside. After arguments with Zeus, which were many. After spying on one his harlots. Looking into it trying to discern what she should change about herself so Zeus would love her again. So things could be perfect again.
As she looked at it, those tears that had been gathering fell onto the surface, which shimmered. Showing her herself. As she'd been in the last moment of her confinement. Demeter and Hestia with her. Screaming as she gave birth to Hephaestos in her bedroom. Her first child. The look of love on her face as she cradled him.
Showing their son to Zeus, who shouted. She couldn't hear what he said, but she remembered. Hephaestos had been born with a twisted right leg. He had been born that way.
It was what she'd always thought she'd remembered, but she doubted herself. Zeus had always told her that her memories were lies.
The mirror followed her to the feast hall. The scepter had disappeared again, which was fine. It was just a scepter with a tip like a dick. The mirror showed her the past. Herself sitting on a throne. Zeus gone somewhere. Young Apollon singing. His eyes blurry with prophecy. She couldn't hear what he sang, but she remembered. It was a song about Fathers devouring their children. It was about husbands devouring their wise wives pregnant with future heirs.
She saw herself arguing with Zeus. Fighting with him. Striking him. Disobeying his order to stop only to have her vows of obedience have her doubling. That had been the water of the Styx rising in her. Warning her of the consequences if she went further.
It was what she'd always thought she'd remembered, but she doubted herself. Zeus had always told her that her memories were lies.
She saw herself in the courtyard talking to Aphrodite. She'd thought that memory a lie. That she'd never gathered the courage to cut the ties of her little cottage and leave. But then, she'd thought the cottage was a lie.
She went to her little cottage. She didn't bring the mirror, but it followed her. It showed her herself hanging from a cloud. Zeus sending Hephaestos flying. Herself falling.
The bitter wind whispered to her that her husband was coupling with another woman, but she ignored it. She flew down from her cottage. Down to the side of the mountain to see what the mirror would show her. Herself, struggling, bound at both wrists and ankles until Zeus came and dragged her away.
She stared at the mirror a long time. Long after it faded to her reflection. She was still thinking about the shattered pieces of memory when she went back to Olympos.
That night, not a feast night, just a regular evening in the feast hall, Zeus said, "Look. You left your silly little scepter in my throne again."
She looked at the scepter in her husband's hand. She said, "Keep it. The tip looks like the head of a dick anyway. It suits you better."
She ignored Ares' startled laughter. She ignored Eris loudly whispering, "Sick burn." She left the hall.
She went to where her daughter-in-law was living with her son. She looked up at the smoking mountain. She should go see Hephaestos. Instead she waited for Aphrodite. She held out the mirror. "Does this show truth or lies?"
Aphrodite wrapped her hand around Hera's. "It shows what's in the memory of a place. Water and air and earth remember." She smiled gently. "Unlike gods, they do not lie."
"I thought that might be the case, but," Hera shook her head, full of so many cobwebs. She slowly pulled off her veils, trying to clear her mind.
Aphrodite tapped a finger on the top of the mirror. "You really weren't who I was expecting to come to me with questions about the mirror."
Hera handed it to her. "I don't want it. Don't… I don't need it."
"What will you do now?" asked Aphrodite.
"I'm going to do something I should have done long ago. I'm going to go see my mother." Hera had not been to see her mother in ages. Not since her mother had opposed her marriage. Not since her wedding. Not since they'd argued.
She shrugged off the feather cloak and snapped it in the air. When it landed, the feathers turned it into a splendid bird to walk and make mournful cries. That was a far better memorial for her sweet Argos than a nasty cloak.
She flew on swift wings to her mother's home on the side of Mount Orthys. A barren wasteland where nothing lived except in her mother's garden. Her mother was a Titan of comfort. Her mother was gardening. She cried when she saw Hera. They both wept and fell into each other's arms.
"I'm sorry I didn't believe you," said Hera. "I'm sorry I didn't listen."
"Shh… shhh…" said Mother. "You're here. You're here." She framed Hera's face between her hands. She kissed Hera's face. Tears mingling with tears.
It didn't matter. They were tears of happiness.
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She spent some time there. Resting. Remembering.
Athena came a time or two to let Hera know that Zeus required her presence on Olympos.
Mother answered for her. "The dragon," she spat on the ground, "only wants Hera back because my daughter is the queen of heaven." Her lips trembled. "I couldn't protect her once. Ever. I…" She placed her arm around Hera. Strong and warm. Loving.
Athena said, "Think of your vows of loyalty." She smiled kindly. "You are the goddess of marriage. Fidelity. Motherhood. If you are not on Olympos, who would you be?"
"Yes, I am those things," said Hera, who had a good deal of time to think. "But I was the Queen of Heaven long before that. I fought in a war once. I forgot that."
"Granddaughter," said Mother, "You have to get away from him. Can't you see what he is? He's just using you like he does everyone. Let us help you get away from him."
"It is the only thing left. Leave," said Hera.
Athena looked young for just a moment. Eyes wet and hot. She raised her chin so like Metis, "I swore to obey my king, as you did."
Hera hummed her thoughts. Far above, she felt the stars hum with her. "I swore to love, honor, and obey my husband. The man I thought I had to marry because," she couldn't say the words. Not even with her mother's arm around her. Not even in her mother's garden. Olympos was too close. But that made her think of Hephaestos. "Why did you give me the mirror? Was it because you wanted me to see or was it because you didn't want to see what it would tell you?" She couldn't imagine that Athena hadn't known what the mirror was.
Athena left without answering, which was its own answer.
The world grew cold. It felt fitting. As if the world itself was giving Hera time to think.
Demeter came over the snow covered hill once. Her eyes were full of wounds. "Have you seen Kore? She's disappeared."
Hera had no answers to give. Old impulses almost had Hera accusing Demeter of wanting her place. Seducing Zeus to get it. The bitterness of the trick Demeter had pulled. A salad of lettuce that she'd claimed resulted in Hera becoming pregnant with a daughter with no father.
Hera had not been at her mother's house long enough to lose those scars. Hera said cooly, "I have not seen your daughter."
Demeter left without Hera saying another word.
Afterwards, Hera said goodbye to their mother. There was something she needed to do.
She flew up to her little cottage in the clouds and untied the island's tether to the mountain peak. Let it drift free of Olympos for the first time in a very long time. She went to the room where she'd once woven strings of stars. Hesitantly, wondering if she still remembered how, she wove new strings of stars. She'd forgotten she knew how.
This was how stars came to sparkle. This happened when Hera moved the shuttle over her loom of stars.